“Of course,” said Astrid.
“I know it has been said, but I want to extend our sincere condolences for your loss,” said Ruga.
Guthmar looked up at her with wet eyes. “He was an unkind man, certainly to me.”
“You’ve had other losses,” said Alvor.
“The loss of my freedom,” said Guthmar.
An awkward silence ensued.
“In any case,” Astrid said, “we are grateful we could host you here, Ambassador. I have enjoyed your presence immensely.”
She was surprised to find it was true. Whatever the political forces around Guthmar—however they beat him down—he was a ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak world. Someone who could find the good in little things. A rarity to Astrid, who saw the world so differently. She was swept up with the sudden urge to hug him.
Guthmar threw his arms around Astrid. His enthusiastic squeeze was unlike Ruga’s assuring hugs, but it was still the warm embrace of someone who had come to like her, and that was nice, too. Astrid returned the gesture.
“I will let them know you had nothing to do with Skarde’s death,” said Guthmar. “But they may blame you anyway, you know.”
“I know,” Astrid said with a sigh.
“I hope your little shadow is healing well,” he added in a whisper.
Astrid held her tongue.
“I am sorry that your citizens were hurt by the attacker,” said Alvor. “Even with the number of guards present… It’s just appalling that everything happened the way it did.”
Tassi’s lip curled like he wanted to say something.
“May I hug you as well?” Guthmar asked Ruga.
“Why not?” Ruga said. She hugged him too, and then Guthmar sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Back to packing. We must go home with haste.”
Astrid and Ruga left them. It was kind of Guthmar to consider Freya’s health amidst his own turmoil. Astrid did not envy the journey he had ahead of him, no matter how short he might rule.
A strange feeling overcame Astrid, and she stopped at a window and looked out into the night.
Something wasn’t right. There were answers in this castle, but the person best at seeking them wasn’t here to find them.
A falcon crossed in front of the moon. Even when Freya wasn’t physically here, part of her remained.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Rosebriar Inn was quieter than Freya’s last visit.
The smell of ale, stale bodies, and freshly mopped floors brought back the memories of the night Astrid had fled here. An appropriate place to return to, Freya thought. How different things had seemed back then. A night filled with hope. Freya knew she might never feel that way again.
She picked a table at the back corner, warm enough to feel the hearth and keep both exits in view. Two groups huddled close to the hearth: one trio of orcs, one pair of humans. They spoke in low voices. This time of night, it was late enough to be considered early.
Back at the temple, Freya had gone to bed, waited until she couldn’t anymore, and then crept out of the shared sleeping quarters to the stable. The horses did not spook—they were unused to crime, their whole lives cared for by priestesses who wore robes like Freya’s. Freya had taken one with ease, mounting the horse with the help of a stool, though the ride had been taxing with her recent weakness. She’d slipped into thenight like a spirit, stolen alms in her pocket. She would repay the priestesses as soon as she got the chance.
A sleepy barmaid set a tankard of ale before Freya. She had a tentative sip. The ale was lukewarm, hardly worth the stolen money spent to buy it.
Freya could not afford to stay the night. She had to act soon. There wasn’t time to sleep.
Returning to the castle was a great way to get herself tied up and dragged to the temple via armed guard. The best thing she could do was bide her time until she could find and confront the assassin on her own. If none of the priestesses had woken when Freya stole the horse, they would certainly report back to Astrid about Freya’s absence in the morning.
